


Parent-Teacher Meeting (PTM)

by PhantomWriter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Non-pairing reader, Reader as a teacher, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23341450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: You’re the homeroom teacher of nine students, four of which happened to share the same family name of Winchester. You dubbed them as the Winchester Four, two pairs of siblings and paternal cousins. You were pretty interested to find out the kind of parents they have.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Parent-Teacher Meeting (PTM)

You straightened your skirt for what seemed like the tenth time within five minutes. 

Not that you could be blamed for your nerves. It was the PTM, of course, and your first since becoming a kindergarten teacher. With the children, you were exactly in your element with their energeticness and rambunctiousness. The parents, however, were the uncharted territories. 

Your first parent for the day was a nice young woman who happened to be a single parent of two boys, Connor and Marcus. You thanked her for her time and gave your appreciation after knowing she was also juggling three part-time jobs. Her kids were often the ones to be picked up a little past the dismissal, and after finding out her situation, you offered to keep watch for them until she could pick them up. She was delighted and was grateful while you didn’t mind the suggestion one bit since you tend to extend your stay after classes. Besides, it was also a chance for you to focus on improving her sons’ reading comprehension since it was your main concern. 

You met both the parents of Alita, the quiet girl you have in class. You often found her sitting and coloring books in one corner and would encourage her to join the others during playtime. You would smile whenever she decided to join the rest on occasion and also understood that she was someone who frequently wanted time for herself. As a compromise, you often have her sit beside you while she was doing her coloring and the others playing. Her parents were alright, you supposed. A little snobbish, maybe, and clearly wanted Alita to be a more physically active child, but you did say you were doing your best and assured them Alita was outstanding the way she was.

Your next parents were the lovely father and mother of the twin girls Lara and Mara. They were the oldest in your class and nigh inseparable which was a given, you thought. With their age, they were the maturest thinkers of the bunch and would help out with keeping the others in line. They were treated as the eldest sisters of most of the kids, and they both get along well with everyone. You told their parents that their daughters showed promising leadership qualities at their young age and pointed out their strongest points and the ones that needed improvements: Lara still struggled with the arithmetic while Mara was having problems with symbolic concepts. Both, however, were impressive with their grasp of the English language for their age. 

You only have nine students in your class and after counting, you realized you already met the parents of five of them so far. The parents of the other four were yet to arrive and when you reviewed your list, you confirmed the students left. 

The Winchester Four. 

It was unexpected, but you recognized the eagerness in wanting to meet their parents. They were two pairs of siblings and both were paternal cousins, and, frankly, the oddest of the bunch. 

Now, it wasn’t that they were weird, per se, though they did display peculiar qualities that could have been picked up from home. Nothing alarming, mind, and if anything, it made you curious as to what kind of people were raising the children—you were already leaning on the hipster-ish type of parents and given that it was already the 21st century, you weren’t certain if that should be impressive. 

You have different backstories in your head like maybe they were kids of uber smart parents because heck, they have rudimentary knowledge in Latin, for god’s sake, while you struggled hard with that dead language during your college years; or maybe they were the nomad kind who would uproot the whole family to move on to the next location, which could explain the expansive knowledge on the geography the kids seemed to naturally have; or maybe they were absentee parents who just let their kids do their thing, making them—

You blinked behind the window, your musing interrupted when you spotted a black ‘67 Impala in front of the school. You might have whistled there under your breath at what appeared to be a well-kept vehicle, though what made your eyebrow rise was the three men who exited it. 

Were they… Were they law enforcement?

You followed the three men with your eyes, thinking they were to walk to the building next to the school when they entered the school grounds instead. You quickly arranged your table and repositioned the chairs by the desk, and by the time you were done, there was a knock on the classroom door. 

Oh, god, they were taller up close. 

“Hi, how can I help you, officers?” you asked, trying not to sound nervous which you (and you thought most people as well) usually were around authorities. 

The blond man smiled charmingly. “Sorry about the confusion, ma’am. We’re not here for work, we’re actually here for the PTM.” 

“Oh. Oh! The PTM. Right,” you muttered, fumbling. “So, uh, for which students?” 

“Winchesters,” the three of them simultaneously said. 

All of them together. Wow. “Ookay. Have a seat here, sirs.” 

There were only two chairs in front, and when you moved in to push another one, the man with the trenchcoat offered to do it instead and sat on it. 

He was also the first one to ask, “Are Jimmy and John doing alright in school?”

Straight to the point, this guy, you thought wryly as you adjusted your glasses. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. They’re great, actually. So you’re the parent of James and John then, Mr… Sorry, I think there will be a confusion here if I call you three Mr. Winchesters.”

“Call me Cas,” said the man in the trenchcoat. 

“Dean here,” said the blond one with a grin. “Cas and I are for the BJ brothers.”

“I’m Sam,” said the tallest of the three as if the other two weren’t towering enough on their own. “I’m here for my kids Marybeth and Anthony.”

“Well, I’m _Y/N_ , their homeroom teacher,” you formally said once you wrapped your mind that, yes, these were the parents of the Winchester Four, and, yep, they were from law enforcement or something along that line of job. “The four kids are fast learners, by the way, and they’re friendly with the other children so we don’t really have an issue there, though there are some concerns that I personally want to bring up to you.”

You reached for a drawer and pulled out a bunch of papers with drawings during the art time. You placed them face down on the desk and had the sudden urge to laugh at their seemingly curious and nervous reaction at the papers. 

“Oh, no, don’t tell me they started drawing something disturbing. Like the serial killers did when they were young,” Dean said worriedly, frowning and the grin gone from his face. 

“Did they draw a dead body, Ms. _Y/N_?” Cas asked grimly. 

You sighed. “Nobody drew a dead body, sirs.” You pushed the drawings away for a moment. “Actually, before that, I have to ask something first. Jimmy told me once that he and John live in a cave with their older brother and their two dads. I don’t want to make assumptions here, Mr. Dean and Cas, but is it a metaphor for your living arrangements?”

Dean looked rather affronted to have their home be called a cave. He opened his mouth to make a protest though Cas had beaten him to it. 

“It _is_ a cave in a child’s perspective,” Cas said. “It is not a cave. It is a bunker,” he said, addressing you. 

“A large bunker with soft beds and a wide kitchen. If it’s going to be a cave, it better be the friggin’ Batcave!”

You have no idea why Dean was defensive about his bunker, but you attributed it to the typical territorialism of men, something which you would probably never understand with your flaming lesbian flag. 

“I’m sorry about him,” Sam interrupted with a sigh. “But, yeah, I think what my nephews called the cave is the bunker where they live in. It’s been with the family for generations and we inherited it from our grandfather. My wife and I moved out of the place so it’s just my brother there, Cas, and Jack during his sem breaks.”

“I see,” you replied, unsure what to say to that further. You pushed the glasses up your nose once more. You cleared your throat. “I’m not asking to pry on where you decide to raise them. I guess I just want to resolve the mystery of this cave or something,” you admitted, assuring them with a slight smile. “There is also another question that I want to raise out of curiosity: where did they learn Latin?”

“I think they might have got it from Cas and, often, from my wife.” Sam appeared to be positively glowing at the question.

You knew it. Smart parents. “Oh. Cool. I mean, I guess it’s nice to encourage them at a young age. Might be handy in the future.” There were other non-dead languages the kids could learn, but to each their own, you supposed. 

You pulled the eight drawings across the table. “As you know, we spend most of our day in art class. It’s to encourage kids to bring out their creativity and I gotta say, Bobby John and Benny James are… creative. So are Marybeth and Anthony,” you began positively. 

There were plenty of drawings from the kids. First month in, your students already filled up the shelves. To remedy the lack of storage, you either post some of them or send them with the student once graded so they could showcase them at home. They were usually the drawings of sceneries, home life, their favorite holidays, and of family. Some showed promise in the pen and paper artistry, and the drawings helped you in figuring out their present state at home. 

The drawings from the Winchester Four, barring the typical imagination exclusive of children, as usual, left you baffled. 

You laid out the first paper from Marybeth Winchester. 

“I believe this is Mrs. Winchester, yes?” you asked, eyeing Sam. “What is she doing exactly?” 

“Cooking,” Sam said simply as if that explained it. 

Cas leaned close to study the drawing. “I think that is Rowena levitating the pans.” You stared at him. “She said she finds it tedious to cook and make the table without magic.”

“Magic tricks!” Sam suddenly exclaimed. “Yeah, she often, uh, shows the kids what she learns from Youtube. I helped her set up this one with invisible strings. The kids like it.” 

Dean rolled his eyes faintly at that as if saying ‘Really?’.

“Right,” you deadpanned when you thought that was the best you could get. You believed that if you mentioned that Anthony and Marybeth told you that their Mom was a former queen—you thought there might be an instance before that they said she was a queen of _Hell_ before she had them—you would get a completely unbelievable answer. “Magic. Cool.”

The next drawing was from Marybeth’s brother, Anthony, and you have to admit, this one made you double-take. “This is from Anthony, and—is that a gun?” 

You pretended not to notice Sam paling a bit. Dean looked like he was stifling a laugh behind a cough. For some reason, he found it pretty funny. 

You heard Sam sigh defeatedly. “Okay, that one’s my fault,” he said regretfully that you almost felt bad that you were interrogating him, but, hey, your student’s welfare first and foremost. If it has to do with Anthony witnessing his Dad at fieldwork, then it was something to be discussed. “I let him spend a night watching me play.”

“Sorry?”

“There’s this shooting game on PS4. I modeled my character after me—on-the-job me, I mean, with uniform and all. I kinda got addicted to it briefly and… you know.” 

“And I thought I’m the irresponsible one,” Dean commented unhelpfully.

“So it’s not Anthony watching you at work? I mean, you guys work at the side of the law, right? I understand your job isn't easy, but you know how it can also impact the children,” you said, expressing your concern. 

For sure, they knew how it would be before they entered the family life, and they seemed to have taken your reminder quite well judging by the solemn nods you received in return. 

To lighten the mood a bit, you showed Sam a joint drawing by Marybeth and Anthony. This one you intended for him to take home. It seemed that something he would like pinned up on the refrigerator. 

“Anthony and Marybeth shared in the class that their Papa is strong enough to lift them both at the same time,” you told Sam. “Marybeth insisted that they include their Mom since she said that Mrs. Winchester was actually behind the camera for this picture. Anthony eventually won the argument when he pointed out that they wouldn’t be any space for the message at the bottom,” you added fondly. “They said that they would just make their Mom a different drawing.”

Sam seemed to have melted at the image, reverently staring at the drawing when you handed it to him. Dean and Cas simply smiled at Sam’s tender expression. 

“Actually, there’s also a drawing here made by the four of them together,” you said, searching through the papers. “Bobby John and Benny James told me it’s their older brother Jack, which Anthony and Marybeth claimed their favorite cousin.”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “Very minimal choices there.” 

You blinked. You remembered this one when you graded it. “Mr. Jack has… quite the set of eyes when angry,” you commented. 

You just hoped that Jack wasn’t actually _high_ with those red, blood-shot eyes. 

“They captured Jack’s impressive set of eyes here,” Cas said with a small smile. “Jack got his expressive eyes from Kelly, his mother.”

You didn’t mean to, but that _Harry Potter_ meme about Snape telling Harry he had his mother’s eyes when the movie hardly bothered with the contact lenses entered your mind, unbidden. You suppressed a grin that nobody noticed. 

“Jack’s a good kid,” Sam said. “He doesn’t get angry with the kids no matter how stubborn they are. He spoils them whenever he can.” He pointed at the ‘Angry Jack’. “That’s actually Jack being protective of them.”

Well, nice to know the kids were looking up to a young adult as a good role model. 

“You can keep it. Mr. Jack might want to take it as a gift,” you told them. Cas folded the paper and kept it. 

Only four more drawings were left, and for the next one, you picked the one that made you curious about the way it was drawn. 

“This was from Bobby John,” you told them, showing the drawing the boy told you what happened on his last birthday. 

“Bobby John told me this was you,” you said to Cas. “Um, what happened here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Cas’s eyes softened imperceptibly at the memory. “This was when we visited Japan to banish an old curse and put the vengeful spirit at peace.”

You blinked once… twice… thrice. 

... Did you hear that right? 

“He’s talking about that Japanese horror movie that we watched in Tokyo,” Dean explained hastily, much to Sam’s amusement and Cas’s confusion. “It’s uh—It’s about that cursed well where some girl was dumped in and she became a ghost wanting revenge.” 

“Oh,” you said dumbly. “And she could walk through the walls?”

“It’s a television,” Cas answered. For a moment, Dean looked nervous when he spoke. “Her death was caught on tape. The tape was a cursed object that anyone who watched it would die after the seventh day.” 

“Wow.” You were a horror movie nut yourself, more so of Asian horror films. You haven’t heard of this movie until now. “Was this released last year?”

“Last year,” Sam confirmed. “It was an entry for the annual Japanese Horror Festival so it was exclusively shown that day.” 

“That’s too bad. I would have watched it,” you muttered. You hoped they would release it on DVD with enough funding. “Okay. So if this longhaired girl here was the ghost in that movie, what was Mr. Cas doing here then?”

“Vanquishing the vengeful ghost,” Cas said grimly. Dean nudged him subtly. “Bobby John and Benny James were scared after watching the film, which was a mistake in our part. I had to assure them that Sadako wouldn’t get them, not when I’m alive.”

Your impression of Cas so far was that he was a man who took things too seriously and literally. You guessed they were just part of his character as the loving Papa. You found it adorable. 

“Ah, kids,” you chuckled affectionately, moving on to the next drawing from Benny James. 

“I think I get it now why Benny James called you an angel in this one,” you said. “Complete with a set of wings and all.” 

“That’s a pretty accurate image of my angel wings,” Cas said cryptically, clearly liking the drawing. 

Dean squinted. “Is that me being carried by Cas?” 

“Your son said so, yes.” 

“I mean, he ain’t wrong,” Dean allowed. “Cas is our ride often,” he murmured. 

You didn’t catch it, but his brother Sam did, prompting a “Yeah, I bet he’s always your ride” under his breath. 

Dean kicked him at the back of his leg and claimed that Sam’s wife was infecting his innocence bit by bit. 

You cleared your throat when you thought a childish brawl would break out between them. Cas merely glanced at you apologetically at their behavior. “They’re not always like that,” Cas told you. 

You waved off the apology with a wry smile. You suddenly missed your younger brother back at your home. 

“Oh, yeah.” You picked out the other drawing by Bobby John. “There’s another from Bobby John. I think this might be about a movie too.” You tilted your head. “It’s… interesting,” you said, for the lack of a better word. 

You heard Sam’s snort before catching the way Dean’s face fell. 

“I think this is Rowena burning Dean that one time he called her fa—”

“Okay, don’t listen to Cas,” Dean interrupted, covering Cas’s mouth with his palm. “That’s—That’s from a show. Okay, so that’s me and Rowena. I was watching the show with the kids, I irritated her for whatever reason, and she threatened to burn me the same way that guy in the show was burned,” he explained. He gave an uncertain chuckle at your reaction. “You know, typical in-laws stuff.”

Yeesh. You were sure darn lucky you didn’t have any in-laws. Not yet, anyway. 

“Pretty sure you were watching _Tom and Jerry_ that time, Dean,” Sam cut in. 

“And Tom got burned there,” Dean protested. “He was still alive, of course. Unlike me if Rowena went through with her threat,” he retorted, petulantly crossing his arms. At Sam’s bitch face, Dean sighed. “Look, man, I’m not demonizing Rowena. Just saying she has quite a temper. For me. Never the kids. I’m saying you could have done worse, Sam, and either way, I’d take her as my sister-in-law anytime.” 

Sam looked like he wasn’t expecting the honest statement. He was warned by his brother not to tell her, and while Sam didn’t look like he was going to keep it a secret from his wife with that knowing grin, he nodded nonetheless. 

There was a single drawing left, and when you saw what it was, you knew that like his brother, Dean would love the one intended for him. 

“Bobby John and Benny James both drew it,” you said, smiling at how Dean went silent in awe. “They told me that their Number One Papa is Cas and you're the Number One Dad.” 

“Can I keep this?” 

After the previous depictions of Dean being carried on air and being burned, you thought he deserved the drawing. “Feel free to.”

Dean was beaming with pride. “Cas, we should frame this.”

Sam shook his head amusedly. You weren’t fooled; you knew he would also do the same with his. 

* * *

The rest of the meeting was quick. The kids’ grades were impressive for their age, and it helped that they have good foundations from home as well. The three of them—yes, even Dean— commended Mrs. Winchester’s patience reserved for teaching them how to read and write and getting them to be interested in books the same way Sam also was. 

“Hopefully, she’ll come with us next PTM,” Sam said. “I’m sure she’d like to know you.” 

Mrs. Winchester seemed like a force to reckon with, but, frankly, you were also excited to meet her in person. 

“Thank you, Ms. _Y/N_ ,” Cas said. You shook his hand. “You’ve given us helpful insights on how they’re doing at school. You’re a good teacher to them.” 

“Yep. Nice to know they’ll be fine in school.” Dean mock-saluted you. “Until next PTM, ma’am.” 

You weren’t expecting your first PTM to go smoothly as this, and you certainly didn’t expect that the parents that initially made you anxious (and interested) the most would be the most entertaining. 

“Until next time then,” you said with a smile. 

You gave a slight wave after you saw them out of the classroom when they stopped on their way and seemingly remembered something. 

“You know what, before we go, we might as well give you this.” Dean reached for his jacket pocket and handed you a business card. 

It didn’t look like a precinct calling card, and at your apparent confusion, it was Sam who answered you. 

“It’s our other job,” he said. “A family business.”

“Hit us up, ma’am, if ever you need help.” 

“With what exactly?” you asked. 

“If you noticed anything strange,” Cas said. 

“Like cold spots,” Sam added

“Or weird smells,” Dean said. “Anything that you noticed… unnatural.” 

“Oh.” Was that the position ‘Hunter’ was for? And what did ‘MoL’ mean? “Thanks?” 

You remained holding the card even as they drove off in their Impala. Curiously, you pulled out your phone and searched the net for the names Sam and Dean Winchester. 

Interestingly, the first search result that showed up in Google was a decade-old website named _Ghostfacers._ Once introduced to the content of the site, however, your reaction was a simple: 

“Holy shit.”


End file.
